


All Out

by brotherfuckers



Series: Striderclan [57]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Comfort, Dirty Talk, Fight Sex, Fights, Frottage, Incest, M/M, Mention of Gpa/Bro, Sibling Incest, Stridercest - Freeform, Strife - Freeform, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-18
Updated: 2013-11-18
Packaged: 2018-01-01 22:47:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1049475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brotherfuckers/pseuds/brotherfuckers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bro misses his fisticuffs partner and wants D to step in. There is no holding back during this strife that gets the blood flowing and the heart pumping and the bruises growing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All Out

“Hey, wanna go all out?” Bro asks as he wraps his arms around D’s waist.

“All out?” D rereads the line on the piece of paper he was reading in the kitchen before being interrupted.

“Yeah. I’m feelin’ it in my bones. Haven’t seen Grandpa in forever. Hope he’s still alive.”

“Who?”

“Ya remember him. Though I guess ya ne’er met him. Ya’d still remember him. God, he was the best. Except for the ne’er hangin’ ‘round for long. The fuckin’s and the gifts made up for it though. And the strifes. Ya remember when I was spittin’ up blood for a week.”

“Yes. That was nasty. And now I know who you are talking about.”

“Yup. So wanna go at it? Wanna strife until we are black and blue and red all o’er?”

“Bro...”

“Ya ain’t goin’ back to Cali for two weeks, D.”

“You are going to be the death of me.”

“One way or another. Probably.”

* * *

Bro laughs when D gets up to the roof. He apparently dressed up for this fight.

“Ya know all that’s gonna get ruined right?”

“It’s an old suit anyways. Last year’s fashion. It’s either this or I make it into paint clothes.”

“Ya don’t even paint.”

“I could start.”

“Or ya could shut up and start strifin’.”

They take that as a mutual cue to lunge forward at each other in a clash of steel. Sparks fly as they flash about the roof. Their footsteps are a constant staccato beat to the ringing swords that buzz and sing in their hands. Even the preliminary warm up circuit would look intense to a spectator.

Both of them soon step up their game. They can barely see each other through their speed and only years of strifing against each other lets them predict where the other will land. But through that same familiarity they know that the other knows so after they run through the same repetition of many strifes past, they start trying other things. They look for angles and openings in the other’s footwork and sword play.

“Don’t hurt yourself thinkin’ too hard, babe.”

“Could be saying the same to you, twatwaffle,” D taunts.

Bro stalls out mid flashstep, nearly falling over in shock at D’s insult. “What the actual fuck?”

“Shove off, it’s British.” Bro’s put back on pace to catch a blow from D’s sword.

“Oi, ya need to lay off the British actors even if ya force them all to have American accents. It ain’t healthy for ya.”

“And you need to lay off the redneck hick accent.”

“It’s called southern charm.”

“I don’t think you’ve made anyone swoon into bed with your bad grammar.”

“At least I don’t have tacky insults.”

Bro cuts at where D is going to land after one of his aerobatic moves but only a half second too late. A flutter of shorn fabric is all he gets before he has to slip to the side of a thrust that rips a tear in the sleeve of Bro’s polo. He blocks D’s whirling blade with a vertical parry that puts him in prime position to counter. But the counter falls flat as D ducks down and gets inside Bro’s swing with a vicious uppercut that snaps his head back. He stumbles back a step as D bounces on his feet, waiting for a reaction.

“You brute. Where is your grace, Bro?”

Bro lets the little orange birdies stop circling his head before grinning through the pain.

“I find that funny comin’ from a guy who moves like a newborn giraffe sometimes.”

He leaps after D again. D is quick to move, dancing away with lightning steps that are followed with sparks as Bro’s sword glances against the ground. Several more rips appear in the fine fabric of D’s pants and a long scrap ends up across Bro’s chest, drawing a thin line of blood. Bro doesn’t stop, ignoring the usual strife rules and making his own stinging mark on the outside of D’s shoulder on a glancing blow.

They both step up their game as the injuries increase. Their clothes are in absolute shreds and red in any place that still hangs from their body. Even Bro jumps in on the fist fighting, landing some blows to D’s torso that knocks his breath out for a second. And then prompts D to take a roundhouse kick to Bro’s shoulder with a follow up slice that nearly hits Bro’s leg.

There are gouges all across the roof and on the walls that are slowly dulling the swords until D’s sword actually catches on Bro’s jeans at his hip and is pulled away when Bro turns away instead of cutting through the fabric. The sword goes skittering across the rooftop. Bro and D pause for a second, look at each other with eyes in surprise. Then Bro grins and lifts his sword menacingly.

“Oh you fucker.”

“Life’s a bitch and then ya die,” Bro gloats before darting forward.

“Fuck fuck fuck!” D manages to bat the swing away with a quick slap down as he somersaults over Bro’s lunge. He tries to go for his sword again but has to dodge away to the last second. He still hears the whistle of Bro’s sword cutting the air next to his head. Bro chases D all around the rooftop, not letting him near the fallen weapon. D manages to land a couple blows while avoiding most of the swings.

Then he gets a crazy idea and slips the remnants of his jacket down to his wrists, flips it over his head and catches Bro’s sword in the fabric. Bro’s sword doesn’t cut through and is wrenched away, the metallic sound muffled. It doesn’t stop Bro for long as he lunges forward again. He grabs the rest of D’s button down shirt, no longer really white by any standard, and uses that as leverage to try to pull his older brother in close. With a shrug and a roll of his torso, D slips out of the ruined shirt and somehow ends up behind Bro to try to do the same to him. Both shirts are discarded as the ploys fail.

They circle each other briefly, eyeing the beginnings of bruises and drops of blood rolling over their sweat slicked skin. The cuts are scattered all over their torsos, shoulders, arms, and even one or two on their faces. They are both breathing heavily and grinning madly. Then on an unseen, unspoken cue, they come together with a crash. Fists connect with jaws that leave them spinning only for a breath before they retaliate with body shots against ribs.

They resort to the karate they learned as children, trading kicks and punches with blocks most of the time. Bro’s build definitely gives him the advantage of taking hits and delivering stronger shots but D has the reach and an edge on speed. Overall they are equally matched as they move about the rooftop, grunts and kiais fill the air instead of crashes of metal.

D notices that Bro is starting to tire out. He is hitting with less force than at the beginning and not blocking as fast a before. D attacks with a barrage of hits before bouncing back away from Bro, trying to draw out an opening against his brother but then his heel catches on a fallen sword and he stumbles backwards a half step until the air conditioning unit catches him. His tactic works, drawing a long lunge from Bro, but with the wall directly behind him, he has nowhere to dodge to.

Bro cheers as he grapples onto his brother and it’s a brief struggle until the rest of Bro presses up against D and their hips align. The entire direction of the fight shifts then as they no longer fight to get apart but fight for control over their entanglement. Bro maintains it, crashing his lips against D’s for a kiss that tastes like iron and red. He grips D’s shoulders tight to keep him pinned. But then D slides a leg between Bro’s and lifts his thigh until it is rubbing against Bro’s crotch enough to make him moan. Taking advantage of the break, D latches onto Bro’s throat with a mixture of lapping, sucking, and biting.

“Oh fuck yes, D. Goddamn yes. Feel so good.” One of his hands drops to D’s ass and lifts him up a bit creating better friction between them. D hooks his other leg over Bro’s hip. One hand snakes up into Bro’s hair, tilting his head back for better access as Bro focuses on grinding him into the wall. D scratches at his back and pulls himself closer as Bro rubs just right against the head of his cock, even through his ruined slacks.

“Bro, Bro, Bro! Just like that! Please please!”

Bro takes the opportunity like D did to attack his brother’s neck and shoulders, leaving red marks to join the cuts and bruises already on the pale skin. D thrusts back against him, rutting in full despite the pain and the aching muscles. They aren’t even going to manage getting their ruined pants off before they ruined them even more.

“Oh god Bro! Yes!” D shouts loud enough to make Bro worry about the neighbors. Or passing pedestrians down at street level. Or passing cops. So he slips his fingers into D’s mouth to muffle the moans and high praise.

“Gonna bring up the whole neighborhood, ya whore.” D makes the nicest choking noise Bro’s heard in a while. “And I haven’t even touched your dick. Or your wet hole. And not gonna either. Gonna make ya cream your pants right here out in the open like a fresh twink.” Bro watches as D’s eyes flutter and nearly roll back into his head. “Goddamn ya make the prettiest noises, D. Gonna make me nut too.”

D arches up into him, while pulling his hips closer. Bro cedes control to D’s harsh pace. His hips are rolling against Bro’s with perfect friction and with perfect rhythm that leaves Bro panting and gasping and moaning lowly against D’s skin.

“Such a randy skank, ya don’t even have the pain kink like Davey or the outdoorsy shit like Dirk but here you are like a bitch in heat tryin’ to get yourself off on me. God, D, you’re so fuckin’ hot,” he murmurs the last part in his ear which sets D off. The whine comes from the back of his throat as he stiffly stills against Bro, who continues to rub him through his orgasm. The wet heat spreads around where it trapped in his tight briefs, soaking a bit into his slacks to make an even darker mark.

D eventually collapses in Bro’s arms against the metal wall that has warmed up a bit from his body heat but still feels good against his injuries. Bro removes his fingers but doesn’t really let him breathe before kissing him. When D recovers enough to kiss him back, D slips a hand down between them to cup Bro’s trapped erection. Relieved that D wasn’t going to leave him hanging, Bro starts rocking against it as he continues to kiss D.

D bites at Bro’s bottom lip, pulling it away with his teeth before letting it snap back. Red tinged spittle is smeared across both of their mouths. Bro croons at him and stares down into his garnet red eyes, dark with satisfied lust.

“Going to cream your pants like a fresh twink, Bro?”

“Sh-shut it.”

“Never. You know how Striders are. We never shut up unless our mouths are occupied.”

“Then get down on your knees, fucker,” Bro growls out.

“Nope. You didn’t quite win this strife. Even if I look beat to hell.”

“Ya look gorgeous.”

“Come for me, Bro.”

Bro crashes down on D again, tasting blood and sweat in his mouth as he cants his hip against D’s palm that rubs and squeezes him just right so that he’s making a mess of his jeans as well. D kisses him through his moans and through that post orgasmic bliss until D finally pushes him away, breaking the kiss with a smack of lips. Bro staggers back a couple steps before looking D up and down. He bursts out laughing and after a second D joins him.

“Good god look at us. Fuckin’ messes.”

“This was your fucking idea.”

“And we’ll be bitchin’ about this for at least a week.”

“I can already feel the hurt.”

“Thank the powers that be that we got two minions hangin’ ‘round the apartment.”

“Oooh, I like the sound of that. Think they can help me down the stairs?”

“They ain’t home for a couple of hours, fuckin’ school.”

“Fucking school,” D agrees. He pushes off the wall and staggers to the remnants of their clothes scattered around. Bro watches amusedly as D picks up a shirt and pieces flutter off of it. D sighs and rolls his eyes, dropping the rest of it as unsalvageable. Maybe the crows can use it as nesting. He tries to bend over again to grab the swords but Bro has to catch him before he falls over on his way up. They lean on each other as they limp to the stairs now that adrenaline isn’t coursing through their veins and the post sex glow is fading.

They somehow make it back to the apartment without falling down the stairs. Instead they fall onto the futon to catch their breath before prodding each other to move before their achiness set in full. D is sent for the first aid kit and Bro is sent to for ice and drinks. D snorts a laugh at Bro when he returns with a handful of beer bottles and a single ice pack.

“It’s all we got.”

“I call the ice pack.”

“Like I would let you touch my beer.”

D opens up the first aid kit and grabs the bottle of painkillers first as Bro cracks open a beer each. After taking those, D assesses what they have in the box to use. He doesn’t think that they’ll need any ace bandages and he doesn’t feel like applying any arnica just yet. Then he sees the bandaids.

“Hello Kitty butterfly bandages? How did you manage that one?”

“I have my sources,” Bro responds smugly. D rolls his eyes but can’t find anything better for what they need now. They only have a couple of gashes that need immediate attention. Anything else can happen after the nap. He passes a couple to Bro and they sit facing each other, applying them to the worst spots before taking turns to check each other’s back. By the time they are done, they can barely lift the beer to their lips. They come to the conclusion that this is the best it’s going to get.  

They manage to stretch out on the futon with the icepack balanced on D’s jaw and beer bottles leaning up against Bro’s tender skin. They both slip into a nap.

* * *

“Fucking hell.”

“What happened to you bastards?” Bro grabs the hand that is about to poke him even before opening his eyes. D isn’t that lucky and flutters awake with a groan as Dirk thumbs a particularly dark bruise that is welling up under his skin.

“Well ya see, there was a break in-”

“-thousand ninjas-”

“-fuckin’ idiots really-”

“- but numbers count-”

“-and they wanted our princess Hal-”

“-but we couldn’t have that now-”

“-so we had to fight them off-”

“-and saved the day.”

Dirk and Dave trade looks. “So you did this to each other.”

“Dumbasses.”

“Hey, what did I say ‘bout talkin’ to your elders?”

“Like you could strife us. Bet you can’t even move.”

Bro glares up at Dave. “It’s possible, Pig, I might be bluffing. It’s conceivable, you miserable, vomitous mass, that I’m only lying here because I lack the strength to stand. But, then again-”

“Dork,” Dave cuts in. “Did you guys even put anything on all of this?”

A guilty silence hangs over them.

“You idiots,” Dirk shakes his head as he picks up the discarded first aid kit. “You both are grounded. Are you seriously trying to get an infection?”

“Gangrene and rotten flesh?”

“Have to amputate an arm if you are lucky?”

“How are you going to be the smuppet lord, king of all porn and maker of debauchery if you only have one arm?”

“I’d still beat the shit out of ya in strife,” Bro grumps.

“Get used to being the bottom bitch, Bro, unless you ask us nicely to fix you up.”

“Dirk, will you kiss all my booboos?” D answers sugary sweet. Dirk snickers at him and gets the cotton swabs drenched in alcohol before handing the bottle over to Dave who is still waiting for Bro’s request.

“Come on, Big Bad, you can’t just pout at me.” Dave slips over to straddle Bro’s lap. “If you lose an arm, how are you going to have enough hands to pin me down proper while you fuck me?” The small whine in the back of Bro’s throat tells Dave that he almost has Bro. He leans down close to Bro’s cheek. “And how am I supposed to call you daddy and be your good little boy if you won’t let me kiss it better?”

“Ah fuck it. Davey, will ya patch your big brother up because we are fuckin’ idiots who beat ourselves up?”

“I’d love to.” Bro instantly regrets his decision as Dave smiles wickedly. He loads up the cotton balls as well and starts applying them liberally to Bro’s skin to make the same gasps and hisses that D is making next to him.

Dave gives no warning before ripping off a bandage of a particularly deep gash. Bro roars and tries to sit up to either attack or run away but he’s barely moved before his muscles seize up and he falls back against the futon with a defeated sigh.

“You’re gonna get your ass royally handed to ya once I can hold a sword again, bitch.”

“I’m looking forward to it.”

“Dave, your painslut is showing,” Dirk warns as Bro continues to growl at him. Dirk also slips over his respective brother’s hips and grabs the bottle of alcohol back from Dave. The swabbing is taking too long. And the futon cover is already stained and smeared from where they have been oozing blood out from the untreated cuts.

D watches with horror as Dirk tips the bottle over him and the cold yet burning liquid splashes over his chest and arms and injuries. But pinned and sore as he is, he can do nothing but flail uselessly and whine pitifully.

“Hold still.” D freezes at Dirk’s authoritative tone of voice, but that doesn’t stop the near sob escape from his throat. “Oh you are such a baby.” D continues to whimper.

“Ya even think ‘bout doin’ that to me, boy,” Bro warns.

“What would you do to me?” Dave taunts with a roll of his hips against Bro’s lap.

“Nothin’ even ya would consider good.”

“Fine,” Dave says resigned to the slow task of cleaning each cut separately. At least it buys Dirk time to apply the arnica and the antibiotic gels to D’s skin without having to trade off the tubes every other mark. Dirk makes sure to kiss each one before slathering it just like D asked.

When he is done, he gets up to refresh the ice pack and make up some more for the various bruising across this body. He switches out some of the warmed beers for cold ones and gets a gruff thanks from Bro.

“Hey Dirk,” Dave starts.

“No.”

“What do you mean ‘no’? You don’t even know what I am asking?”

“Then ask,” Dirk sighs.

“This sounds real familiar,” Bro tells D in an aside.

“Dirk, you and I should go all out.”

“No.”

“But-”

“This is not an excuse for you to get some pretty bruises and I don’t want to end up like these dorks who are going to be sore and bitching for days,” he emphasizes his point by poking some purple spots on both ‘guardians’ to hisses and growls. “No all out fights with me, Dave.”

Dave pouts and tries to turn his begging eyes on his brother.

“No.”

“Damn.”

“Don’t worry your pretty head, babe. Promise I’ll leave ya black and blue in a couple weeks if that’s what ya really want now-”

Dirk jabs Bro in the side hard enough that Bro actually snaps his teeth at his younger lookalike. “No.”

D interrupts with a whimper, “Can we be done yet? This wasn’t even my idea and I’m the one getting tortured by Dirk the jerk,” he gets another poke for that, “See! You are all evil bastards. Well maybe not Dave. I’m calling Dave as my snuggle buddy.” They all laugh and agree to that, the twins switching sides of the futon as carefully as they can to avoid jostling their sore idiot brothers before settling down with them.

“Well get you some better drugs later on, okay doofuses?”

“Yeah, that sounds fine,” Bro murmurs as he carefully stretches out, enjoying the burn in his muscles from a damn good all out fight.

**Author's Note:**

> For more information please check out our work at striderclan.tumblr.com; we have more stories, head canons, art/pictures.


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